His Eyes Are Red
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: "When she had surged into the battle, Ginny Weasley had promised herself that she would never look into the face of Lord Voldemort if he appeared. But he found her like he always had." Haunted by her past, Ginny will need to face the very being she has been fearful of since her tragic first year of Hogwarts. Will she have the strength to overcome the past?


**Hey everyone! I've made it my goal to try and get a good feel for Ginny's character because she's a _fascinating _character, and I've been writing pretty much only Hermione for three years now. And so here's my first attempt for it! Hope you enjoy :)_  
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**Written for Hogwarts - **_DADA Assignment 6. __Word Prompt: #7 Echo. __Dialogue: #2 "...and remember, the next scream you hear may be your own!"_

**WC: 1,142**

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><p>When she had surged into the battle, Ginny Weasley had promised herself that she would never look into the face of Lord Voldemort if he appeared.<p>

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She would rather die than see him again, though the thought of dying was so plausible that she felt guilty to think it.

And she did not look at him when he announced that Harry - _Harry_ - was the limp figure in Hagrid's arms. She didn't look at him as Neville stepped forward and did. She couldn't look at him. The thought made fear - a fear that was thrice as constraining as the threat of death - seem almost irrelevant compared to the sense of dread Ginny felt at the simple rearrangement of letters in his name.

She did not look at him. She would not have, would have rather sacrificed her Gryffindor courage and will than look at him, but still he found her like he always had.

She was running, tears for Harry blinding her vision as she surged through endless masses of spells and people and blood and death, running towards where Percy and George stood fighting the one who had taken her brother. And then he saw her, like he always had. Like he had when nobody else had seen her. Like Tom, her friend. And Ginny knew the moment he spotted her; Ginny _knew_ and perhaps that was why she turned.

And Lord Voldemort was battling three formidable duellers at once, but he still laughed and watched her with his cold, heartless eyes (she couldn't see the color, but she knew they used to be brown) as she began to shake, an unmistakable coldness chilling the soul - _her_ soul, she had to remind herself. And he still said in his high, clear voice, "Look who has joined us! Ginny Weasley."

Even after five years, even though his face had contorted to something so evil he could barely be defined human, there was a moment where Ginny ceased to remember who she was, what she was, where she was, why she was, and only knew that she needed to help Tom. Her friend.

_Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley. Ginny._

It was only an echo, she fought to argue with herself. An echo. An echo. An echo, like how her scream had echoed in the Chamber of Secrets just as Tom revealed who he really was, his brown eyes gazing mildly into hers…

Somewhere, Kingsley Shacklebolt yelled at her to run away, to save herself. But Tom laughed again and said, "But she cannot, can you, Ginny?"

He was right; he always was. She stood frozen to her spot. Her wand clattered to the floor, and she almost collapsed with it.

_I won't. I won't, damn you, I won't do it, Tom_. She fought to say the words that she could never bring herself to tell him.

"Miss Weasley, go while you can!" Professor Slughorn shouted, but he didn't know that she couldn't.

_I can't do it. I won't, Tom._

"Ginny wants to stay, doesn't she?"

_I won't._

"MISS WEASLEY, YOU ARE BEING INCREDIBLY FOOLISH-" Minerva McGonagall was cut off by a name, a name that had haunted Ginny for years. Three little letters that made up the year of her nightmarish hell.

"TOM!"

It was half a sob, half a cry of terror, wholly a scream of anguish.

And while her professors suddenly dawned looks of comprehension and pity, Tom laughed. His voice sounded the same when he laughed, Ginny noticed. If she closed her eyes, she could maybe see-

"Ginny's still haunted by me, aren't you, Ginny?" Tom leered as he shot a series of spells at Professor Slughorn, who nimbly shielded himself and countered back. "More haunted than by the screams of your comrades around you, yes?"

"I won't." Ginny trembled. Any moment now, she was going to have to give in. Any moment now, Tom was going to claim her as his to use to kill chickens and slather paint on the walls and flood the bathroom. She dug her nails into her palm, willing herself to stay. Did she want to stay?

And Tom's words poured over her like a familiar mass of caresses worming their way to her heart. "Do you remember the sound of your own scream, Ginevra? Echoing on the walls of the Chamber." He laughed. Tom seemed to laugh a lot more than she remembered. "Remember it well…and remember the next scream you hear may be your own."

"Miss Weasley," shouted Kingsley. "Leave! I understand it's-"

Tom spoke for her. He knew what she was feeling, like he always had. "Oh, but Kingsley Shacklebolt! You _don't_ understand. Ginny's here on her own, is she not?"

_I won't._

Very slowly, very tremulously, Ginny nodded. She hated herself for it, but something told her it was right to do it. Tom had said so.

"And Ginny can't help but stay here, can she?"

Ginny nodded again, a little more submissively than the last, and Tom laughed. And for a moment, he stopped shooting spells and twisting and turning, and just. Looked. At her.

And perhaps this was when the weight she had been carrying since she was eleven crumbled, letting _Ginny_ shine through. She felt the sensation refill her bones, which she had not known felt fuzzy until now. She felt her vision clear, ears sharpen, though she did not remember when she went into such a trance.

And she could see, she could really see, because she knew that the being in front of her was not Tom. He was Voldemort.

Ginny slowly but surely shook her head. "I won't," she repeated, and though her voice shook, there was a layer of hard resolve that had not been there before.

Voldemort heard it, too. His eyes narrowed even more, and he hissed as, in one fluid motion, Ginny picked up her wand and aimed a curse at him. He deflected it easily (he had been deflecting three people's stream of spells without even looking), but somehow looked more lost than she had ever remembered him looking.

Her hands shook by her side, but still Ginny stood, staring into Lord Voldemort's red, _red_ eyes. She did not know how she had ever thought they were brown. Brown didn't suit him like the unearthly red did.

"Ginny Weasley," sneered Voldemort, traces of laughter long gone from his evil, evil face. "Prepare to die. BELLATRIX!" Over the shouts of people in the Great Hall, the woman with the mass of black hair turned, her face eager as she looked at her master. "Take this one well."

And as Ginny Weasley didn't even flinch as she ran to face her new opponent. She simply felt relieved to be turning her back on her last.

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><p>She never saw his red eyes again.<p> 


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